


Carry On

by WhyCarrion



Category: Black Parade (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Demons, F/M, Hell, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Purgatory, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyCarrion/pseuds/WhyCarrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the events of The Black Parade album centered around a girl who wasn't supposed to die and a boy who wasn't supposed to live. All original characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

It’s a strange sensation, seeing yourself. Not a reflection, mind you, but genuinely seeing yourself--your body, your face--from the outside like a stranger would. You don’t realize what’s happening at first, Abigail certainly didn't, and the whole thing was almost serene for a moment. But that moment was fleeting.  
  
Abigail was paralyzed, both by fear and some otherworldly force holding her to the spot where she hovered a few feet above the hospital bed staring down at her own self. There was commotion all around, but the stillness with which her body lay overshadowed all that. Abigail fought against whatever held her there, trying desperately to reach out and grab hold of herself.  _If I can get back_ , her own voice sounded hollowly in her head,  _Maybe I can fix this_.  
  
She did have a penchant for fixing things.  
  
But the doll-like version of herself below was unmoving. Her spindly limbs were limp at her sides, the bright blue of her veins under pale skin alarming. A mass of chestnut hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head, haloing her features: lips she always thought were a little too thick, a nose that turned up and reminded too many people of a certain barnyard animal, eyes she insisted were blue but verged on grey, especially on rainy days. Nothing about her frail form had appealed to her before, but at that moment she would have taken back every cruel word she’d said about herself to have it all back.  
  
Abigail’s panic grew, and she looked about for anything that could help. The voices of the others were muffled, but urgent, and they scrambled around one another performing some chaotic dance, but nothing they did changed her vacant eyes, purpling lips, greying skin.  
  
_Save me!_  Abigail’s voice screamed out in her head.  
  
The physicians and nurses were still clambering about, but no one thought to look up, to grab her, to pull her back down.  
  
_Save me!_  she cried out silently again, the familiar prick of tears rising in the back of her eyes. Still, nothing.  
  
She took in a staggered breath and shook. Her shell did not respond. A woman slammed against her body’s chest with a closed fist. Nothing. Again! Nothing. Abigail blinked--she couldn't even feel it.  _You can’t..._  
  
The room darkened, Abigail’s vision tunneled, and the sounds all fell away.  
  
_Save me._  
  
It’s a strange sensation, to see your body staring back up at you. Stranger yet when you realize those staring eyes are dead.


	2. Dead!

Abigail was surrounded by darkness save for a tiny pinprick of light. Whether it was far off or just before her, she didn’t know, but she was moving towards it, mindlessly at first, then, slowly, like waking up from some long dream, she regained control of her body and continued the march forward. The walk felt interminable, and the light did not seem to be getting bigger, but she continued to blindly put foot after foot, reaching out her arms into the nothingness. And then, suddenly, her foot did not find solid ground beneath it, and she fell.  
  
Her stomach dropped as she tumbled forward, thrashing her hands about into the void. Her voice caught in her throat, though she was unsure she could have screamed even if she wanted to, and wind rushed past her face until, with a hard thunk, she hit the ground, stars bursting behind her eyes.  
  
Her vision slowly returned as she blinked into the dim light now surrounding her. She could feel rough, wooden boards against her bare knees and hands and thought at least she was inside. In fact, she was in some sort of room: there were walls, a little window, and even a set of chairs and a table. Looking up she could see there was a ceiling of wooden beams and a solid roof, but from judging how far she felt she’d fallen, there was no way it had been there seconds earlier.  
  
“What the hell?”  
  
The voice pulled Abigail’s attention away from the impossible ceiling. On the far side of the room, in an archway that lead into another room too dark to make out, stood a man utterly perplexed. He’d apparently been in the process of dressing, only one arm through his shirt, and his pants hanging loosely and unbuttoned from narrow hips. He pulled the shirt down, but not before Abigail caught a glimpse of long, red marks running up a muscled side. “How’d you get in here?”  
  
She couldn’t very well tell him she’d fallen from the sky, it didn’t seem possible even if it were true, but before she could figure out how to respond, recognition flooded his dark features.  
“You! You’re not supposed to be...shit.”  
  
He came at her, and she scurried out of his path with a yelp. He stopped, raising his hands, “Chill.” She eyed him but relaxed as he carefully walked to the spot she’d been sitting and lifted a stick from the floor.  
  
Abigail finally found her voice then, and it cracked as she spoke, “Where am I?”  
  
“Fair question,” he nodded, examining what he’d picked up: a cane, a round, red crystal attached to its end, “But better question: what are you?”  
  
“What do you--oh god!” Abigail glanced down at herself at his suggestion and saw that she was completely naked. Her face burned, and she covered her breasts, pulling her knees up to her chest.  
  
“Hold on, maybe I can…” he pointed the cane at her, seemingly indifferent to her nakedness, and tapped her head with the crystal, dropping his voice dramatically low, “By the power of Ba’al, I command you return from whence you came!”  
  
“Stop that!” Abigail swatted the stick away then quickly covered herself again.  
  
The man sighed and went back through the archway, “I don’t think I have any--ah!” He returned and threw something black at her, “Lucky I still had that, I guess,” then went back to examining the cane. When she was sure he wasn’t looking, Abigail slipped the material over her head. The dress was soft, simple with just a bit of lace around the low neckline and where it stopped mid-thigh. It looked like it might have actually been lingerie, but she realized she wasn’t in a position to complain.  
  
“So, listen,” she heard him say, “You’re not meant to be here. You gotta go.”  
  
“I don’t even know where  _here_  is,” she stuttered back, pulling herself to her feet and feeling the full brunt of the fall coursing through her limbs.  
  
The man stared thoughtfully upward, “You all call it, I think, Purgatory?” he bit a thin lip then looked back at her, “It’s like where people go when they transition from one life to the next.”  
  
Abigail felt her voice shake, “Are you saying--”  
  
“No,” he held up a hand, “I mean, maybe you’re dead? But only kinda.”  
  
“Dead?” she swayed back and fell onto a chair as the memory of staring down at her own body lying lifeless under hospital fluorescents flooded her brain again. “It wasn’t a dream? I’m actually dead?”  
  
“Hey, it’s not so bad. Though you’re not supposed to be. Maybe that’s why you’re...wait a minute,” he walked to where she was sitting, and this time Abigail had nowhere to scurry off. Before she could react, he gripped her wrist and flipped her arm over. With a knife he revealed from his belt, he made a thin slice on the soft underside of her forearm. It stung, but only for a moment as a line of red rose to the top of her skin. “Blood? That’s interesting!”  
  
When his grip on her wrist lessened, she ripped her arm away and covered the cut with her hand, “What the hell is going on?”  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he looked at her as if she should have known, and zipped his pants with a kind of finality that made her close her mouth and wait.  
  
Abigail scowled at him then studied the dark, little room. It was a bit like a house, meagerly furnished with a simple stove and a few pots, but everything seemed old and handbuilt, like something out of a fairytale. It was odd, and she knew she’d never been here before, but this man was mildly familiar. They were roughly the same age, early twenties from what she could gather, and by his dress she thought she could have seen him around, maybe at a show.  
She glanced at him again from the corner of her eye. His tall, lean figure was pacing now, holding the crystal end of the cane against his forehead. He had a long, pointed chin and slightly sunken cheeks below high cheekbones. Heavy black brows were knitted over hazel eyes poking out from under a mass of untamable black hair. She’d maybe seen him once before, but where?  
  
“Only thing I can think is you took some of it.”  
  
Abigail squinted at him.  
  
“I didn’t think you got high though.”  
  
She screwed up her face, “What are you talking about?”  
  
“The party. Do you remember?” When she shook her head he grumbled with annoyance, “Your friends, they took some, um...strong drugs while you were in the bathroom. Did any of them give you some? A little pill? Maybe crushed up?”  
  
“What?” The memory was fuzzy, but it was there, dancing against the back of her mind. She and Brian and Leslie and the rest of them had gone out. There was music, laughter, drinking, lots of people...and him. “You!” she pointed an accusatory finger, “You were there!”  
  
“Yeah,” he nodded knowingly, “Just doing my job, though.”  
  
A sense of foreboding came over Abigail as a question formed in her mind. She chewed her lower lip, afraid to ask, then finally gave in, “What’s your job?”  
  
“Collecting the souls of the newly deceased. Just your friendly, neighborhood grim reaper. All that shit.”  
  
Abigail stared down at her lap, her vision tunnelling. She knew the smart thing to be at that moment would have been scared, but instead she suddenly felt an intense sadness well up in her. A lump was forming in her throat, but she whispered past it, “So my friends? My boyfriend?”  
  
His voice was far off, and she could barely hear it over the sound of her own heart pounding against her chest, “Yeah, but, oh man, don’t be sad. They sucked.”  
  
“They’re dead,” Abigail felt sick to her stomach and she balled her fists in her lap, “But I’m dead too, right? So maybe me and Brian can still be together and--”  
  
“Ew, god, no, gross, stop! Just stop right there. You do not want that.” Abigail snapped her head up to him. The man was clearly irritated, “Listen, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but that slimy guy was a cheater. Your little blonde friend too. Together. Like, a lot.”  
  
Abigail stared back at him in silence. It was something she had suspected on and off, but never allowed the thoughts to fully form in her mind. It wasn’t impossible, but, no--how did this man--this stranger--know any of that?  
  
When she didn’t respond, he just nodded, “Yeah. So they got what they deserved. And you’re better off, honestly.”  
  
Abigail felt her blood boil, “So you killed them, and I should be thankful?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t kill them for you, don’t flatter yourself, but I did think they were shits.” He was so nonchalant about it all, speaking as if he weren’t even really interested, “The others knew all about it, they were all just so...ugh. But you seemed different. And you weren’t on my list anyway, but still you ended up here, so--”  
  
“So,” Abigail stood, “I am standing in the house of a murderer.”  
  
“An assassin?” he shrugged halfheartedly, “But like I said, I don’t think you’re one hundred percent dead. Not yet--”  
  
“Oh my god,” Abigail turned on her heel, eyeing what looked like an exit.  
  
“Wait, don’t go outside!” she heard him yell just as she threw the door open. Above was a dark, starless night sky, and a red clay dirt road meandered into the shadows before her off into a densely-wooded forest. Abigail hated the dark, but her rage overcame any fear that might have cropped up as she stormed off.  
  
 _Who the hell does he think he is?_  she screamed in her head,  _Probably just some crazy weirdo._  Then a terrifying thought broke through. What if he had drugged her? And brought her to his freaky cabin in the woods? The dream, the hazy feelings, even her nakedness, would make sense then.  
  
Just as Abigail was about to glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being pursued, a terrible screech sounded behind her that made her freeze. For a moment in the silence that followed, she thought she had imagined it, the sound had been that otherworldly, but when she turned she knew it had been real.  
  
He wiped flecks of some oily black liquid off his face with the collar of his shirt, his other hand gripping the hilt of a sword. Something still spasmed on the ground, but Abigail could not put a name to it. Leathery, black-skinned, and grotesquely-shaped, it let out a pathetic squeal as the man tugged his weapon out of it. “You’re like a fucking beacon to them.” He wiped the blade off in the dirt then sheathed it in a scabbard slung on his back. Seeing the look on her face, he shrugged, “I told you not to go outside.”  
  
“What the hell is that?” Abigail could barely hear her own voice.  
  
“Demidemon,” he put his hands on narrow hips, toeing the creature’s corpse, “Easy enough to kill, but only if you can catch them. Really good nose on them too, and, sister, you stink.”  
Abigail glared at him, almost as offended as she was terrified.  
  
“To them, I mean. And the other things here. You won’t make it out there alone. Not with all that blood in you.”  
  
Abigail glanced down at her arm where he’d cut her, but was shocked to see the slice was now gone.  
  
“Are you ready to listen to me now?”


	3. Dead(er)!

“I can’t leave, but I can’t stay,” Abigail rolled her eyes, “What’s the solution? Eternity in the doorway?”  
  
She’d decided to accept it, all of it, no matter how insane it seemed. The dead creature outside had been proof enough, and she had no other options anyway. The man, Johnny he said his name was, had explained her human body was still back on earth in a coma, but her soul was now stuck down in this place, Purgatory. Abigail had somehow gotten a little extra, a little corporeal as opposed to being wholly soul: “Happens sometimes,” he’d said with a shrug when she asked why he had checked to see if she bled, “Means it’s more likely you can go back.” She liked the sound of that.  
  
“You can leave, but it’s going to have to be with me.” Johnny was lazily picking things up from around the room and putting them in a satchel.  
  
“Okay, so you’ll take me back to earth and--”  
  
“No,” he stopped, making sure they made eye contact, “I can’t do that. I don’t just get to go to earth whenever the hell I want. Can you imagine if we could all just do that? It’d be chaos!”  
  
When he went back to collecting things, Abigail huffed, “Who’s we?”  
  
“The others. This place is full of, I don’t know, demons I guess? Vampires, some of them,” he screwed up his face, “That’s what you’d call something that lives off the soul of something else, right?”  
  
Abigail hesitated, “I guess.”  
  
“Anyway, there are a lot of things down here that really should stay down here. The only way I can get up there is with my boss’s power, and I’ve got to visit him anyway, so if you want to get back to your body, you’re going to have to stick it out with me.”  
  
“And my friends too?” She gestured to the cane leaning up against the table. Johnny had explained that after they’d died, he’d trapped their souls inside the crystal. She’d been trapped as well until it rejected her since, as he’d said, she wasn’t one of the intended targets.  
  
He rifled through a cabinet, throwing an unconvincing, “Sure,” over his shoulder.  
  
She didn’t believe him, but it was all she had.  
  
“I thought you were the grim reaper,” she crossed her arms and watched the man fling the satchel over his back where he already had his sword slung, “Aren’t you all-powerful?”  
  
“I’m a grim reaper, of sorts.” He thought a moment, “It’s not like one dude goes around collecting all the people when they die. I just do what I’m told.”  
  
“Well, that’s disappointing.” Abigail stood, “So are we going?”  
  
Johnny rounded on her, quickly closing the space between them so that they were inches apart. He was at least a head taller than she, and looked down his tapered nose at her with unflinching severity. She moved to back up, but was stopped by the table. He curled his lips into a snarl and looked her up and down before whispering, “Yes.” He grabbed the cane at her side and turned away. She watched him stride to the door with a grimace. This would not be easy.  


***

  
Abigail didn’t know how how long they’d been walking down the shadowed dirt road, but the silence was killing her. Well, not  _killing_  her, she thought, eyeing Johnny. She’d decided to be at least passive aggressively mad at him and essentially give him the silent treatment, but she had no idea how long it would take to get wherever they were going, and she restless settled in as her anger subsided. She never did have the energy to stay mad at anyone. Maybe that was why she and Brian had lasted so long.  
  
Abigail shook her head and looked out into the darkness of the trees at their side. There was movement between the thick, black trunks, and visions of the mangled, bloody creature came back to her. Death was different down here, Johnny had explained. If the body of an inhabitant of purgatory was destroyed beyond repair, their soul would get stuck. “And it’s just...it’s not the same.” He’d shuddered when he told her that, and he didn’t need to elaborate for her to know she didn’t want it to happen to her.  
  
She walked a bit closer to Johnny when she thought she eyed another shadow. He had, after all, saved her from one, and was practically a walking arsenal with his sword, dagger, and god knew what else hidden away on him. Having him dislike her, she realized, would not help her in this place, and she decided to try and endear herself to him. Of course, only one thing came to mind: “So, you’re the grim reaper?”  
  
“ _A_  grim reaper,” he corrected her, “but I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Her face fell, “You don’t want to talk about it? But it’s probably--no, it’s definitely the most interesting thing I’ve ever heard.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow, “I thought I was disappointing?”  
  
Abigail shrugged, “Disappointing you don’t have a sickle and a robe and aren’t, like, a skeleton, I guess, but it’s still cool.”  
  
Johnny let out a long breath, “Not really. It’s just a job. No different from, uh, what did you do?”  
  
“Waited tables,” she recalled.  
  
“Yeah, just like that.”  
  
Abigail thought back to the double shifts, the rude customers, her paltry earnings, and huffed, “Somehow I don’t think that’s true.”  
  
“Man, you don’t want to believe anything I say, hu?” his lips broke into a threatening smirk.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Your boyfriend.”  
  
She knew he was trying to change the subject, but took a deep breath, going along with it, “So you do have some kind of powers if you know the secrets of the humans you’re going to kill.”  
  
“Secrets?” he twirled the cane in his hand, “They were barely keeping it a secret. Like I said: all your friends knew.”  
  
Abigail squeezed her eyes shut, keeping herself from yelling at him, “And how did you know? Some kind of magic?”  
  
“I just saw them,” he said simply, “You disappeared for a minute, and they were all over each other. One of them, the one with the blue hair, she was like their lookout.” Abigail listened to him, her heart feeling heavy. “It was like a game to them. But to be fair, I can sometimes see into the souls of the living,” he raised an eyebrow at her, “and I do find out weird little things about them.”  
  
Abigail tried to push away the heaviness that was settling in her chest, “That’s interesting. Do you weigh their souls for good and evil?”  
  
“Nah,” he kicked a stone on the path, “I mean, I guess kinda. It’s complicated. But your boyfriend, that was an easy one. He was a jerk.”  
  
It came all at once, and her vision blurred, hot tears suddenly streaming down her face. She wanted to keep silent and hidden, letting her hair fall in a curtain between them, but a loud sob escaped anyway, and she wiped at her eyes hurriedly.  
  
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Johnny stopped and rounded on her, and she dropped her gaze to the ground. “Come on, I didn’t want you to cry.”  
  
“Then why’d you keep bringing it up?” she yelled, pushing past him and continuing down the road.  
  
Johnny groaned, coming up behind her, “I didn’t want you to be sad. I thought if you thought they were all assholes, you wouldn’t be so sad they’re dead.”  
  
She sniffed as he came around in front of her again. “So, you made it all up?”  
  
“Oh, no, they’re definitely all assholes and Brian and Casey were fucking each other, but--hey, come on!”  
  
Abigail fell into another bout of crying, covering her face with one hand, and trying to push him out of the way with the other, but instead he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place, shushing her. The urgency in his tone made her fall silent, and she looked up at him. His hazel eyes flitted around nervously. He heard something.  
  
There was a screech, and a black creature flew out from the treeline. Johnny spun, pulling out his sword and slicing the thing in two in midair. A second scurried out and then a third, both headed for Abigail, and she screamed at the sight of their grotesque shapes and rigid teeth. With another swing, Johnny knocked them off course, but only nicked one. They were fast, like he said.  
  
Abigail stumbled backward until she tripped over a tree root, falling hard onto the red earth. She watched him stab one of the demidemons and slash at the other, missing. It made a beeline for Abigail and she yelped. Backed up against a tree, she quickly rolled away and saw the thing run right into where she had been, smashing what you might call its face into the thick trunk. Dazed, it wobbled backward for a moment and Johnny was on it a second later, running it through.  
  
Johnny let out a long sigh in the quiet following the attack and narrowed his eyes at her, “I was afraid of this. We’re going to have to get you something that will shield your smell, something you can bond to.”  
  
“Bond to?” Abigail stared at him wide-eyed as she stood.  
  
“Like me and mine,” he gestured to his sword as he wiped the steaming blood off in the dirt, “It’ll cut for anyone, but it’s more powerful in my hands. Also helps with the blood situation.”  
  
“You’ve got blood too?”  
  
“Lots of us do, just in different...flavors. Mine’s well-shielded, and most of the vampires have dead blood, but yours is alive, and new, and--”  
  
“It stinks. Yeah, I know,” Abigail rolled her eyes, “But how am I supposed to get a sword?”  
  
The corner of Johnny’s lip twitched, “There's a demon downtown who owes me a favor.”  
  
She stopped brushing the dirt off herself to give him an uncertain look, “What did you do for a demon to possibly make him owe you a favor?”  
  
Johnny winked with a sly smile, “There’s things I’ve done you never should ever know.”


	4. The Unforgivable

“A bus, out here?” Abigail had crossed her arms when they came to the stop at the end of the path where the forest thinned out.  
  
“How else are we supposed to get around? Purgatory is a big place. You know how many people die everyday?”  
  
“Still, a bus? On a route? Driving past a forest? Kind of weird, don’t you think?”  
  
Johnny had sighed as it pulled up, “You were almost killed by a demidemon and you’re concerned about how weird this bus is?”  
  
She followed him on, “Fair enough.”  
  
After the bumpy trip surrounded by a gaggle of strange, humanesque creatures, they came to a stop in a less rural area. The sky was still black and the road red, but there were something like streetlamps lining the street with live flames atop them and a few people--if you could call them that--mulling around the assortment of buildings.  
  
Johnny led the way to a cabin. A hot, smoky smell emanated from the place, and above the entry a sign hung from great, black chains in a language Abigail couldn’t read. Inside, the air was thick and static, and she lingered in the entryway as she watched Johnny continue in.  
  
He’d saved her twice now, without complaint, and she’d not thanked him. Of course, she blamed him for getting her into this mess, so maybe he didn’t deserve thanking, but still a little ball of something like guilt rolled around in the pit of her stomach. She watched his back a second longer as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, remembering how lean his midsection had been. When she realized he was looking back at her with a sort of “come-the-fuck-on” look, she shook her head and hurried into the main room.  
  
The light was dim, but reflected off the shining weaponry hanging from the walls, the ceiling, covering almost every inch of the place. Abigail pulled her arms in, wanting to be as small as possible surrounded by the sharp edges. Save for a few round plates here and there, everything inside looked as if it wanted to jump off the shelves and make good on its purpose to stab.  
  
“Well, if it ain’t little Johnny!” A short man entered from a door behind the counter, gripping onto Johnny’s hand and shaking it tightly, “Haven’t seen you in--but wait, who’s this?” Just as quickly as he took Johnny’s hand, he dropped it, pushing past him and sauntering up to Abigail, “Ain’t she pretty? Has Dolly met her?”  
  
“Nice to see you too, Rex.” Johnny turned to the weapons on the far wall, “I need something from you.”  
  
Rex ignored him. He had clasped Abigail’s hand in both of his own, his pink-toned skin hot. Bald, he wore a pair of goggles atop his head, a dirty outline of where they had been circling his eyes. Though sweaty, the man was all smiles, and he would have appeared human to her had she not seen the protrusions just behind where his goggles sat on his head: horns, one standing at six inches, the other broken at the midsection. She couldn’t help but gape, and when he spoke she turned red. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”  
  
“Abigail,” she ventured quietly, suddenly very aware of how revealing her dress probably was.  
  
“Where you from?”  
  
“That’s why we’re here,” Johnny answered before she could say anything. He was taking a halberd off the wall and testing its balance on his palm, “I don’t want that question being asked.”  
  
“You want to outfit this little lost soul with something?” Excitably, he rubbed his hands together, “So she’s got blood, then?”  
  
“Yeah. I was thinking maybe a pocketknife or something? Nothing too dangerous.”  
  
Rex laughed, “Well, you don’t get to choose that, do you?”  
  
Johnny eyed him with an annoyed look then replaced the halberd, “Can you do it?”  
  
“For you, anything. But I gotta ask again, what about Dolly?”  
  
He dropped his voice low, “Why would that matter?”  
  
“Cause, well, uh, she’s been here this whole time.”  
  
Rex pointed to the back of the shop. The space had certainly felt empty when they entered, but to Abigail’s surprise, a woman was seated in a high backed chair in the corner. She gave them a little wave with long fingers, batting thick lashes over heavily-lidded eyes. Her hair fell in long, black plaits around her face, outlining swollen breasts and a cinched waist. She uncrossed toned, impossibly long legs and stood, her dress even shorter than Abigail’s and hugging her like a second skin, and her distorted reflection in the weapons surrounding the chair followed suit. “Name’s Delilah,” she extended a hand and walked up to Abigail, “But the boys call me Dolly.”  
  
“Don’t!”  
  
Abigail took her hand just before Johnny could stop her. She felt an electric shock run through her the moment their fingers touched, and though it was not altogether unpleasant, she knew it was somehow wrong and quickly let go.  
  
“Ah!” Dolly shrieked with delight and smiled broadly at Johnny, “Have you really got what I think you’ve got? Is this why you haven’t been to see me in so long?”  
  
Abigail rubbed her hand, feeling remnants of the shock in her fingertips. She looked to Johnny, and he quickly averted his eyes from both women, “What are you doing here, Dolly?”  
  
“What? Can’t I come to see my good friend Rex?”  
  
Rex laughed, “We are good friends--she’s been in to see me everyday for a couple weeks now.”  
  
“Shut up,” she hissed less than amicably, then turned back to Abigail, “So little dead girl, you seem...sweet." She looked as if the word had left acid in her mouth, "How’d you end up down here?”  
  
“Accident,” Johnny said hastily for her.  
  
“Oh, it’s never an accident when someone ends up down here,” she sidled up to Abigail, whispering in her ear, “Don't you know that all the  _good_  girls go to heaven?”  
  
“She’s not what you think she is anyway.”  
  
With a squeally little laugh, Dolly crossed the room, “And what do I think she is?” When he didn’t respond she leaned close to him, “Of course. Well, if you want me to keep your little secret about her, you’ll come see me in about five minutes outside.” With a lick of her lips, she scurried out through a side door.  
  
“Dug your own grave with that one,” Rex filled up the silence once she was gone.  
  
“Just do the thing,” Johnny rolled his eyes and crossed his arms with a huff, “I’ll be back in a few.”  
  
“Fine, now, my dear, stand here, please.” Rex went to Abigail and put his hands on her shoulders, positioning her in the center of the room. She watched Johnny go out the same door Dolly had, worry building in her stomach, though why she couldn’t tell.  
  
“Is that his girlfriend?” she asked as casually as she could muster.  
  
Rex flitted about the room, repositioning some of the weapons on the wall. “Dolly isn’t anyone’s girlfriend,” he laughed.  
  
That certainly didn’t feel like a complete answer, “What does that mean?”  
  
“Succubi don’t have significant others, not usually. But demons like Dolly, well, they’re more collectors anyway. Now!” he got behind the counter and lowered his goggles over his eyes, “Put your arms out.”  
  
She watched him kneel, just the tip of his head and his horns peeking over the countertop, “What’s going to happen?”  
  
“Well, we don’t know where it will come from, so…”  
  
Abigail took in the sharp edges around her again, “Oh, god.”  
  
“No, no. No help there,” he chuckled at himself, “It’s a simple process really. Something here is bound to want to bond with you, especially with all the blood in ya. All you need to do is repeat after me: _Ra’eppasi di w’oh_.”  
  
Abigail swallowed, “ _Ra’eppasi...di w’oh_.”  
  
A gentle metallic shiver ran through the room and the swords and axes vibrated in a ripple across the walls.  
  
Rex cleared his throat, “A little more feeling, dear.”  
  
 _“Ra’eppasi_ ,” she tried standing a little taller and spoke from her gut, “ _di w’oh_.”  
  
A loud bang sounded from the back of the room, and she spun to see a shield had fallen from the wall, a dagger had lurched off a shelf, and a quiver of arrows fell from a nail at the front door. The clatter made her squeal and pull her hands into herself, but nothing had come right at her.  
  
“One more time.”  
  
Abigail braced herself and all in one breath spoke, “ _Ra’eppasi di w’oh_!”  
  
She was blind, but only for a second. Something had slammed into her head at full force and knocked her onto the ground. When she opened her eyes, a long staff was lying beside her, sleek and grey.  
  
“This is the one!” Rex skipped out from behind the counter and picked it up from the ground. “Nice going! Lucky it wasn’t too pointy though.”  
  
“Thanks,” Abigail rubbed her temple and helped herself to her feet.  
  
Rex took the staff through the swinging double doors behind the counter, telling her he’d have it cleaned up, and Abigail was left alone in the shop. She picked up the few weapons that had fallen and gently placed them back in their spots, slowly making her way across the room and to the side door. She waited a moment, and when Rex did not come back, she leaned against the door. It opened into a narrow alley between the shop the the building next to it. To the right she could see a small sliver of the main road, to the left an open area beyond the alley.  
  
Abigail silently sneaked down the path and peaked around the corner to see the yard behind the shop. Large cauldrons suspended over blue flames, inside bubbling gold and silver liquid, dotted the area, fenced in by the backs of other buildings. It was hot and smelled of metal, the sounds of steam all around, but amongst those sounds a less natural one--the sound of a harsh whisper. Then she saw them.  
  
Johnny had his back pressed into the shop’s wall, his palms flat against it. He was watching the woman’s fingers as they crawled up his chest. “You shouldn’t have stayed gone so long,” she was saying, amusement in her voice, “I thought you were becoming accustomed to it. Maybe even liked it a little? And now it’ll be like starting all over again.”  
  
“He told me to stop.” Johnny’s voice was different, wavering, weak.  
  
“No he didn’t!” she screamed, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her, “He might be your keeper, but he doesn’t care what happens to your flesh when you’re not running his errands!” She stared at him long and hard, and he truly looked frightened. Then, she broke into another smile, running her fingers down his throat to his chest, “Remember that. He doesn’t care about you, your wants, your needs,” she snickered, “But I do.”  
  
In a single motion, the woman slid her hand down his chest and disappeared into his pants. Johnny grimaced, looking away. “Hey!” she grabbed his face again with her free hand, “What is this? You’ve gone soft on me.”  
  
“I told you,” Johnny grabbed her arm, mustering something like bravery, and it stopped its searching, “I’m done.”  
  
She sucked her teeth and growled in the back of her throat, “I always liked your darker side better anyway.” The woman released him, but only for a moment. She yanked his shirt up, exposing a chest covered in old scars, then placed one finger just in its center. Johnny froze, his eyes wide. “Let’s bring the shadows out, shall we?”  
  
Her nail pierced him, inching its way into his chest, and she laughed giddily at his cry. Abigail was shocked to see the woman--demon, really--working her finger into his chest--not cutting him, but simply sliding it in as if it belonged buried beneath his skin.  
  
Abigail turned and ran back into the building, finding Rex as he emerged from the back room. “You have to help him!” she shouted, “She’s hurting him!”  
  
“Who? What?” Rex was polishing the tip of the staff, an ornate blue sphere suspended amongst twisting grey spires.  
  
“That woman,” Abigail felt frantic, trying to lead him to the door, “She’s attacking Johnny!”  
  
“You sure?” Rex smirked, “Because sometimes things look like one thing but are another.”  
  
Exasperated, she threw up her hands, “Of course I’m sure: he said no!”  
  
“Well,” Rex held the staff out before him, examining it, then brought it back in to continue polishing, “That’s none of my business, really.”  
  
Abigail huffed, “Oh, give me that!” She ripped the staff away from him and turned on her heel for the door. Trying not to think too much about what she was doing, she sped down the alley to where the woman had Johnny pinned.  
  
Her heart was racing, and her mouth had gone dry. It was terrifying, the thought that the demon would respond, but also terrifying that she might not. She heard her own voice, but barely felt it, “Let him go!”


	5. The Famous Living Dead

Abigail had leveled the staff at the back of the woman’s head. When Dolly glanced over her shoulder, she looked past the sharp tips poised to impale her face and stared Abigail down with a cold glare. Johnny was frozen against the wall with Dolly’s hand buried into the center of his chest, and Abigail’s demand for his release echoed into the yard. Dolly looked her up and down, her lip curling, “Is that...is that  _my_  dress?”  
  
Abigail quickly glanced down at herself then back up, “This is a dress?”  
  
She knew it was a mistake the moment the words left her mouth. With a sickening, wet sound, Dolly wrenched her hand out of Johnny. It left no mark, but his body fell in a limp pile to the ground. Abigail wanted to go to him, but the woman turned, trading Johnny for the staff and yanked it forward, Abigail attached. Her other clawed hand came up and curled around Abigail’s neck, “It’s unwise to challenge me. I have reinforcements.”  
  
Abigail felt herself be hurled across the yard until she connected with the back wall of another building. The world spun, and she tried desperately to pick herself up but could barely manage to make it onto her knees. Pain seared through her back, and her head pounded as she blinked away the dizziness. Dolly’s voice sounded from across the yard: “Get her.”  
  
Johnny’s figure had risen. He was staggering towards Abigail, his head bent, and even as her vision steadied, she could see there was something wrong with the way he was moving, stiff and inhuman.  
  
Just as she managed to regain her footing, Johnny reached her. His arms shot out, grabbing her wrists and slamming them into the wall above her head. He hulked above her, his breath hot and heavy against her face, but none of that scared her in the way that his eyes did. The hazel that had been so lively before was completely gone, replaced with a wholly black void, lifeless and energized all at once. She screamed, but it did nothing to deter him. Instead, he secured both of her wrists in one hand with more strength than she ever expected him to have, and used his now free arm to slip under her thigh. Her heart raced as his fingers grazed the bare skin under the hem of her dress, effortlessly lifting her up against the wall.  
  
She felt the heat of his body on her own as he slid himself between her knees, her thighs resting on his hips. Abigail’s breath caught in her throat, and for a split second she thought she might actually wrap her legs around his waist and pull him right up against her.  
  
“No!” the woman screeched as she crossed the yard to them, and Johnny blinked, shaking his head, the hardness to his face falling, “Why the hell would I want you to fuck her?” She grabbed him by his hair and threw him to the ground. He dropped Abigail when he fell, and Dolly kicked him in his side, “I want you to kill her!”  
  
Abigail regained herself, jumping up and running back across the yard, taking up her staff from where it had been dropped. She took a deep breath and held it tight, pushing the indecent thoughts that had intruded on her mind away--this was definitely not the time for that. “What did you do to him?”  
  
Dolly smirked, “Johnny’s not like the other boys.” He was getting to his feet awkwardly, and Dolly reached down, lacing her fingers into his hair and pulling him up, “He’s not even like the other vampires, really. Ba’al made him special. So easy to turn on,” she released him, and he started toward Abigail, “So hard to turn off.” She sighed, “It’s unfortunate really to waste you--you could probably be turned as well--but I don’t like competition.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abigail narrowed her eyes, shooting looks between Johnny as he staggered toward her and Dolly’s still, nonchalant figure, “I just want to get back home.”  
  
“And I’m sure Johnny wants to go home too, but that’s just not going to happen because he belongs to this place, and he’s mine. My toys do what I say, and despite that little,” she rolled her eyes, “setback, he seems to understand now that I want you dead--for good.”  
  
Abigail hesitantly swung at Johnny when he made it to her, but he simply grabbed the staff, throwing it to the ground. Taking her upper arm, he pulled her close and in a swift movement unveiled the dagger from his waist. The cold metal bit into her neck, and she froze under it. Johnny held her there, ready to pull the knife across her throat and spill her blood onto the earth. But he did not move.  
  
She searched his face. It held no emotion, but she locked her eyes onto the black voids where his had been. She couldn’t read him, but wondered if maybe he recognized her. “Johnny?”  
  
“What are you waiting for?” Dolly screeched, “Do it!”  
  
Johnny’s brow furrowed, and he snorted, and Abigail’s pulse raced under the dagger, but she continued to stare at him. “Don’t listen to her,” she said quietly, taking a staggered breath, “You’re in there, right? Don’t let her do this to you.”  
  
His face relaxed, and he blinked, though he still had a firm hold on her arm.  
  
“You’re your own person,” she said as calmly as she could muster, “Did you hear what she called you? Her toy? That’s not true.”  
  
He grunted, an almost human sound, and Abigail felt the knife move away from her throat. Johnny leaned in close to her, and she had to fight herself from backing away when he dipped his face down so that his nose almost touched hers.  
  
“She doesn’t own you.” Abigail raised a hand to the place on his chest where the demon had attacked him, her palm hovering over his heart, “Nobody does.”  
  
“God damnit!” Dolly was suddenly behind them, grabbing Johnny again and pulling him back, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dolly jerked back Johnny’s head and smashed her lips down onto his. Abigail saw the woman shove her tongue down his throat, working his mouth vigorously, then finally release him. She sneered, “What is the matter with you? What the hell are you good for if you can’t even put a single human soul down for good?”  
  
While Johnny blinked back at Dolly blankly, Abigail took up her staff from the ground. The demon seemed to be paying no attention to her, so she took a full force swing at her, but the woman caught the staff and turned.  
  
“It seems I have to deal with you myself.” Dolly released Johnny and turned away from him. She stepped toward Abigail with fire in her eyes, “Are you ready to die again?”  
  
Abigail was paralyzed as the demon swung at her, claws bared, and all she could do was close her eyes, hoping it would be over quickly. But then--nothing. Abigail popped one eye open and saw Johnny had moved, catching Dolly’s arm and stopping her.  
  
Dolly’s face changed, her eyes wide with shock. Before she could react, Johnny pulled back a balled fist and launched it for her chest. His hand, like his eyes, had gone completely black, like it had been dipped in tar, and gave off a smoky haze. It sunk into the woman’s skin, and she began to sputter. His hand rooted around inside her, emerging a moment later holding a red, oozing mass. The heart pumped once as the veins still connecting it to her body tore away. Then, as if it suddenly dried up, Dolly’s heart turned to black ash, disintegrating between his fingers, and her form fell, lifeless, onto the ground.  
  
It had happened so quickly, she wasn’t sure she had seen right. Had he attacked her? Had he really torn her still-beating heart from her chest? Was she actually dead?  
  
She hesitantly flicked her eyes over to Johnny, afraid she might be next, but he was still, rigid even, taking hard, sharp breaths through his nose and clenching his fists. The hand he’d used to attack Dolly still generated an odd black aura, and his eyes peered down at the demon’s form as voids of nothingness.  
  
Abigail found her voice, and shakily reached out to him, “Johnny?”  
  
He twisted toward her too fast, and she jumped, squealing. He blinked, and all at once his eyes returned to their hazel coloring, his face fell, and his body relaxed. Then, he wavered, eyes rolling back into his head, and he fell forward.  
  
Abigail caught him with an arm under his, his chest falling against hers. She tried to steady him as he slumped against her, “Hey, stay awake for me,” his weight almost too much for her.  
He mumbled something in response, eyes closed.  
  
The threat had passed, and she tipped his face up, “You can walk a little for me, right?” He said nothing, but his legs seemed to be working, and she started back toward the weapon shop with him. “Almost there.”  
  
Rex ran up to them when they entered, taking the bulk of Johnny’s weight off of her, “What happened?”  
  
Abigail snorted, “The thing I was telling you was happening was really happening!” She took a breath, taking in Johnny’s limp figure and deciding she didn’t have the energy to be mad, “Is he going to be okay?”  
  
“Depends,” Rex took him through the doors behind the counter, Abigail following closely, “What actually happened?”  
  
Abigail explained, to the best of her abilities, as Rex lead her down a little hallways and into a dark room where he dumped Johnny onto a small bed in the corner. She conveniently left out how he had pinned her to the wall and how she had felt about that, the thought even now making her go slightly red.  
  
“Oh, she  _disappeared_  him,” Rex nodded knowingly, looking Johnny over as he lay motionless on the cot.  
  
“She what?”  
  
“Succubi, they repress parts of people’s souls to get them to do what they want, usually sexual stuff, ya know, but with Johnny, well, there’s a whole lot more that can be done.  _Disappearing_  is when a whole part of you gets blocked.”  
  
“So what he did--”  
  
“He wasn’t in control, except for I guess at the end. This poor kid, his soul’s been split. That’s why she liked him so much. Well, one of the reasons. But the purpose of having your soul split--that’s a lot more sinister.” Rex surveyed him with his hands on his hips, “Something Ba’al originally did to him.”  
  
“Who’s Ba’al?”  
  
“Not for me to say, really.”  
  
Abigail chewed her lip, standing beside the horned man knowing she wouldn't get much more information than that, “I guess I should tell you, there’s a little situation outside.”  
  
Rex nodded, “Oh, I figured. I knew at the most only two of you were coming back.”  
  
Abigail raised her eyebrows at him, both surprised and not.  
  
“Glad it’s you two to be honest.” He let out a long sigh then scratched his head, “I’ll take care of the mess out back. Kid needs rest, probably that’s all. You can stay here, of course. I got work to do tonight anyway.”  
  
“So that’s it? Just...rest?”  
  
“That’s it.”  
  
Rex left Abigail with a shrug and she stood awkwardly at Johnny’s bedside. He looked as if he were just sleeping, but she knew better, and a knot formed in her stomach. She pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat, exhaustion suddenly washing over her. How much time had passed since she’d suddenly found herself in this place, in Purgatory, she didn’t know, and the eternal darkness outside didn’t help. She did know, however, she didn’t seem to have any other needs besides the sudden desire to sleep which, she gathered, made it all the more demanding on her.  
  
Resting her elbows on the edge of the bed, she leaned close to Johnny and stared hard at his face. His eyes, they had returned to normal before he’d passed out, hadn’t they? She hesitated, wanted to pop open one of his lids, but instead settled on just brushing his bangs away with a careful finger. Relaxed now instead of staring angrily at her or looking annoyed, she realized it was actually a pretty nice face. Handsome even.  
  
His hand, lying limply at his side, had definitely returned to its original color, though, and that relieved her. She lifted it in her own turning it over, but didn’t note anything special about it. Neither hot or cold, and no discoloration even around his nails, it was as if nothing had happened.  
  
“Except something did happen,” she said quietly to herself, holding his palm against hers and using her other fingers to trace the tendons running up to his fingers, “And he could have died. For me.” And whatever death meant down here, she knew it wasn’t something anyone welcomed.  
  
That was it, she thought with a yawn, feeling her eyelids fluttering down,  _I’ll at least thank him for this when he wakes up._


End file.
